


Monster

by Ginipig



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brotherly Affection, Brotherly Bonding, Brotherly Love, Brotherly Relationship Repair, Cas feeling an emotion?, Early- to Mid-Season 5, Early- to Mid-Season 5 Spoilers, Fix-It, Gen, Sam Winchester Has Self-Esteem Issues, Season/Series 04 Spoilers, and trust issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-23 20:26:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19158373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ginipig/pseuds/Ginipig
Summary: After everything that happened between him and Dean with the breaking of the final seal, Sam is having trouble moving on. Dean's weird, sort-of helpful angel friend wants to know why.Not that it's any of his damned business.(Spoilers through early- to mid-season 5.)





	Monster

**Author's Note:**

> I'm relatively new to SPN (still in the middle of season 5!!), but my good friend who got me into the series is not. She's seen every episode at least three times and other lovely superfan things. When discussing the end of season 4 with me, she said, "That voicemail breaks my heart. And it's never directly resolved. Things are different between them for a long time, and it's clear that Sam still thinks Dean said those horrible things." After watching up through mid-season 5, I find myself agreeing.
> 
> So I fixed it for her.

_I'm done trying to save you. You're a monster, Sam._

Vision blurring, Sam blinked up at the ceiling. The motel bed was typical, lumpy and hard, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Hey.” Dean’s voice, no longer dripping with utter loathing, burst through Sam’s thoughts. “I’m gonna see if I can find some food around here. You want anything?”

Sam shrugged. “Not really.”

“When was the last time you ate?”

“Not hungry.”

Dean’s heavy sigh was steeped in disappointment, as always these days. “Fine. Don’t go anywhere, okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

There was a pause, but Dean didn’t say anything before leaving, the door clicking closed behind him.

Things were almost normal now. Or as normal as they could be with the Apocalypse — capital A, the one _Sam_ had started — on its way. He and Dean were traveling together again. But it wasn’t the same. It would never be the same.

_You're a monster, Sam._

When Dean had hurled that accusation at him just before their fist fight, Sam had felt it like an arrow to the heart. He remembered thinking that death was less painful, that nothing could ever compare.

But he was wrong.

No pain he’d ever experienced, not even Dean being dragged to hell and having to go on without him for months, could be worse than hearing the sheer hatred and disgust in Dean’s voice in that message. The one person who had fought beside him over the past four and a half years, who had saved him countless times, who had sold his soul to a demon to bring him back to life because he couldn’t bear losing him — Dean, the only person Sam had ever craved approval from — had called him a monster. Told him he was beyond saving, that he agreed with their father that Sam needed to be put down like one of the creatures they hunted.

That betrayal had ripped out Sam’s heart and smashed it into a million pieces, and every time he replayed Dean’s words in his head, he felt his heart shatter all over again.

They’d both said things they regretted. Hell, Sam had started the fucking Apocalypse because he’d ignored Dean’s incessant warnings. But after it all, he had apologized over and over and over. He wanted to fix things. Wanted to team up with his brother to try to save the world.

Once they joined up again, they mostly cleared the air, tried to move forward. Most days, Sam could keep the pain hidden, deep down where he could manage to forget about it sometimes. On occasion, things even felt like they used to.

But he knew Dean no longer trusted him. He was reminded of it in dozens of little ways, like today, when Dean spoke over his ideas when they’d discussed strategy, or a couple weeks ago when he’d overheard Dean talk to Bobby about who was responsible for the Apocalypse.

Worst of all, though, Dean had never apologized for the cruel things he’d said in that message.

Sam let tears streak down his cheeks, not bothering to wipe them away. It never made him feel better, letting them fall versus holding them in, but sometimes the pressure in his chest grew so great he thought he might burst, and even silent tears at night, with Dean asleep in the other bed, provided enough release to allow him to function.

After several minutes, the pressure ebbed, and he forced himself to sit up. He threw his legs over the side of the bed and buried his face in his hands, elbows on his knees. He’d get up in a bit to splash water on his face before Dean got back.

In the silence, he heard the telltale soft _whoosh_ of wings that meant he was no longer alone.

Wiping his hands down his face and giving a large sniff, he said, “Dean’s not here. You’ll probably find him if you head for the nearest diner.”

“I know,” said Castiel. “We already spoke. I’m here to talk with you.”

“If you’re here to lecture me, save it.”

“I’m not.” The bed creaked, and Sam looked out of the corner of his eye to see an angel of the Lord sit stiffly next to him on a crappy no-tell motel mattress. “I wanted to ask how you are. You seem … unwell.”

Sam laughed, and it left a bitter taste on his tongue, both familiar and vile. “Yeah. Apparently that happens when you drink demon’s blood for months.”

“No.” Cas responded in his usual monotone, and Sam didn’t know whether to prepare for a treatise on faith or a warning about monsters. “I meant … emotionally.”

That almost made Sam laugh in actual amusement.

Almost.

“That’s —” Kind of adorable? And also none of his damned business. “I’m fine.”

In his periphery, Sam saw Cas frown. “That phrase has always confused me,” he said, and oh boy, Sam was not in the mood to play Human Ambassador to Cas’s Emotionless Angel Constantly Confused About God’s Creatures. That was Dean’s job. “Every person seems to use it inconsistently and incorrectly, to describe many different emotions or sometimes none at all. And then I realized — it doesn’t describe anything. It is a lie.”

“Congratulations?” Yeah, he was definitely not in the mood to be psychoanalyzed by an underpowered angel who barely understood human emotions, much less motivations.

“Dean is healing from what happened between the two of you. Why aren’t you?”

Sam would give Cas one thing — at least he didn’t beat around the bush. “Why the hell do you care?”

Cas was silent for several long moments. Then he said, “You work better together, and best when you are on good terms. If we are to succeed against Lucifer —”

Sam snorted. “Of course.” He was only ever a tool, a weapon, a monster. To everyone.

“And I …” Cas began. He paused for longer than his usual odd conversational cadence. Sam turned to see him, too, leaning forward, forearms on his knees, hands folded, head down. Cas took a long, deep breath, and Sam almost said something before he spoke again. “I feel responsible, and I would like to help if I can.”

Sam gaped. Was the stoic angel having an emotion? “That’s — I appreciate it. But you can’t wave this away with your heavenly Grace.”

“No, I cannot. Even if I hadn’t lost much of my power … Grace does not work like that.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that’s not what I meant.”

“I know. That was … an attempt at humor.” Cas didn’t even crack a smile.

Sam blinked at him. “Keep practicing.”

Cas nodded, gracefully — heh — accepting the criticism. “Dean said something similar. Though not as kindly.”

Sam’s heart shattered again. “Yeah,” he rasped. “He does that.”

Cas sat up straight, somehow managing to intone a question and a statement simultaneously. “You cannot forgive him for the things he said.”

Sam squeezed his eyes shut to keep in those stupid tears. The last thing he needed was to explain to Cas why humans cried when they were sad.

“But he apologized.”

Sam stood abruptly. “Did he tell you that? Maybe you should give _him_ your little ‘people lie’ speech. Because he didn’t apologize, and there were plenty of opportunities. And even if he had … some things just can’t be unsaid. He said Dad warned him about me, and that —” In an effort to hold himself together, he inhaled a shuddering breath to keep from completely losing it. “I can tell he still doesn’t trust me. He said he was done trying to save me. And I’m trying, I am, but what if I mess up? If I put one step out of line, will he —?” No, he couldn’t say it out loud. It was too much, too painful to imagine. “He’ll always see me as a —” His voice broke, but he pushed the horrible word out anyway. “Monster,” he whispered.

Another long pause, and Sam braced himself for a lecture. But it didn’t come.

“When did he say this?”

Cas’s flat, almost disinterested tone bothered Sam more than it usually did. How bad was he if a damned angel couldn’t bring himself to care?

Then again, he wasn’t even sure who the good guys were anymore.

And he snapped.

“Why does it matter?” he roared, relieving the unbearable pressure inside with volume this time, rather than tears. “You asked me why, and that’s why! He never apologized because deep down he still believes it!”

“But he did apologize. Among many other things.” The quiet, bland distance of Cas’s voice only enraged Sam more. “I heard him myself. He called you.”

“You’re fucking right he called me, and he didn’t pull any punches!”

Cas had the gall to shake his head, and Sam couldn’t take it anymore. He stalked to a table, unplugged his phone from its charger, and threw it at Cas — who, of course, caught it.

Because losing a lot of his power hadn’t affected his stupid fast reflexes. No, hitting an angel with his phone might have made Sam feel a little better, and even at the end of the world, heaven or hell or whoever couldn’t allow _that_.

Cas frowned at the screen, and Sam swore if the bastard asked him a tech question he would launch himself out the window.

“Why do you keep this if it causes you such pain?” Cas asked, and for once his voice sounded like an angel’s should — soft and compassionate.

But Sam was beyond heaven’s help now. “As a reminder. I’m a monster, and I can’t be trusted.”

Sam heard the phone beep and paced away, though not far enough. He had the damned message memorized, so the rise and fall of Dean’s voice allowed his head to fill in the blanks.

_“Listen to me, you bloodsucking freak. Dad always said I’d either have to save you or kill you. Well, I’m giving you fair warning. I’m done trying to save you. You’re a monster, Sam — a vampire. You’re not you anymore. And there’s no going back.”_

A long silence followed the end, enough to let Sam’s tears fall all the way to his chin before he gave up and wiped them.

“This is wrong,” Cas said softly.

Sam laughed almost hysterically at that. “Now you know why I said I was fine.”

“No, I mean this is incorrect.” Cas was on his feet now, pacing as he almost spoke to himself. “This has been altered.”

“What?” Sam spun around. “By who?”

Cas shook his head. “I cannot tell. But Dean never said this.”

“You can’t know that.”

“Was this the only message you received?” Cas was — there was no other word for it — agitated. His question carried an urgency Sam didn’t understand.

But he nodded anyway.

“I heard him leave the message,” said Cas. “He said many things, and he did apologize.”

That didn’t sound right, though. “Dean wouldn’t do that. Not with anyone else in the room.”

“He wasn’t aware that I was watching.”

Sam cocked an eyebrow. “That’s creepy, even for you.”

“It was my job to make sure he didn’t do something stupid to save you.” There was a hint of annoyance in Cas’s voice that Sam knew only too well. “Remember the last time he did that?”

Sam tipped his head in acknowledgment. “Fair point.” And then the gravity of what Cas was saying hit him. “Why would anyone alter his message?”

Cas pursed his lips in thought. “What did you do after you heard it?”

Sam shuddered. Blood. Sweet and bitter and pulsing with power. The poor nurse who died as he —

As he drank her.

He swallowed the bile rising in his throat. “I — I went into the convent to find Lilith.”

Cas bowed his head, and it all clicked.

Whoever had altered the message — and at this point, Sam had no idea whether it had been Lilith, or Ruby, or Zachariah, or someone else they didn’t even know about yet — had done so in order to force Sam to decide, once and for all, to kill Lilith.

“I am sorry, Sam,” said Cas, and he sounded it. “I kept him from you. He promised to do whatever we wanted if only he could speak to you for just five minutes. I thought he would try to stop you, and I had my orders. I refused.” He looked away for a moment, closing his eyes, before opening them again and adding, “But he did call you, and he did not say” — he shook the phone slightly — “this.”

Sam swallowed hard. Was Cas telling the truth? “You — you’re sure the message was altered?”

“I am not mistaken.” Cas stopped pacing and looked directly at Sam, lifting his chin. “And I am an angel. I do not lie.”

Sam snorted. “Angels have lied to us before.”

Cas crossed to him, expression more serious and intense than Sam had ever seen it — and that was saying something. “I swear to you, Sam Winchester, on the souls of your father, mother, and brother, that I speak the truth.”

A shiver ran up Sam’s spine, and he knew, somehow, that Cas’s vow was for real. He wasn’t lying.

Sam’s heart pounded. “Tell me what he said. Did he —” His voice broke, and damn it, he was crying for real now. He squeezed his eyes shut. “Please tell me.”

“No.”

Sam gasped on a sob, and his eyes flew open in time to see and feel Cas press two fingers to his forehead.

 

* * *

 

Blinking, Sam found himself in a large, bright room decorated in a weirdly baroque style (complete with paintings of angels) that clashed with the bottled beer and silver tray of cheeseburgers on the table.

“Frickin’ angels,” came a familiar growl.

Sam spun to find Dean pacing the room and muttering angrily.

“Dean?” he asked.

But Dean almost walked right through him. “Cas!” He shouted at a blank wall. “Get back here, you son of a bitch!”

He apparently couldn’t see or hear Sam, which meant this wasn’t real.

This was Cas’s memory, and he definitely wasn’t telling Sam what Dean had said.

He was showing him.

Dean growled in frustration when no one responded to his shouts and began pacing again.

“Frickin’ angels, frickin’ demons, frickin’ Apocalypse,” Dean muttered. “Frickin’ _demon bitch!_ ” he shouted at nothing in particular. After a moment’s hesitation, he said, “Ah, screw it.”

Then he flipped open his phone and dialed, and even though Dean was holding the phone to his ear, Sam heard the other end as if it was on speaker.

A ring, then his own recorded voice. _“It’s Sam. Leave me a message,”_ followed by a beep.

Dean opened his mouth, and for a moment nothing came out.

“Hey, it’s me. Uh ...” Dean paused again, mouth open, before clearing his throat. “Look, I’ll just get right to it. I’m still pissed ... and I owe you a serious beatdown. But ...”

Dean stopped, and when he spoke, his tone was as far from venomous and disgusted as it could get. Nothing like the voicemail Sam had heard. Dean was serious as he ever got, and he sounded … he sounded …

“I shouldn’t have said what I said. You know, I’m not Dad. We’re brothers. You know, we’re family. And, uh ... no matter how bad it gets, that doesn’t change. Sammy, I’m sorry.”

The other end beeped in the middle of the word _sorry_ , and Dean sighed, disappointed and resigned.

Sam sat on the edge of the table and covered his mouth with his hand as tears — not defeated or afraid now, but hopeful and happy and _relieved_ — poured down his cheeks. This time, he didn’t want to wipe them away.

Because Dean hadn’t called to try to stop him. He’d called for the same reason he’d requested that five minutes from Cas — to apologize. To tell Sam, in case they never saw each other again, that he didn’t think he was a monster. That they were brothers, still.

Always.

 

* * *

 

“Hey, Sam, wake up!”

Sam’s eyes snapped open. He lay on his back on the hard, lumpy motel bed, and Dean was shaking him roughly.

“Sammy! Sam!”

Sam wiped a hand down his face and sat up. “What’s wrong? I just …” He glanced around the room. Cas was gone, and his phone sat on the bedside table, unplugged with only 68% battery. “What’s going on?”

“Cas has a lead for us. Let’s go.”

“Where?” Sam shook his head to dispel everything but the present.

Dean nodded in the direction of the door. “Diner. Place has great pie.”

Focused now, Sam raised an eyebrow. “How do you know it’s great?”

Dean glanced up at the ceiling, tilting his head back and forth. “I might have had a slice or two while Cas and I talked.” At Sam’s eyeroll, Dean protested, “What? Cas said he’d never had pie before, the poor bastard, so I changed his life.”

“You already ate.”

“Yeah, but I need a cheeseburger so bad.”

Sam gaped at his brother but shook his head in surrender. “Sure. Pie sounds great.”

Dean leaned back and threw two hands out in his _Hang on a minute_ gesture. “Wait, really? You want pie? You feeling okay, Sammy?”

“I’m f—” Sam stopped himself, then smirked. “Yeah. I’m actually pretty good.”

“ _Pretty good?_ You do know the Apocalypse is coming, right?”

“And you want to eat pie.”

“Hey.” Dean said seriously, pointing an index finger. “The world is ending. Now is the best time to eat pie.”

“Sure.” Sam laughed, and it was light for once. Actually happy.

Dean cocked his head, staring at Sam like he’d just suggested the Ghostfacers were legitimate Hunters or something. “Whatever. Let’s just go.”

“Hey, Dean?”

Dean turned back around impatiently.

Sam opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

_We’re brothers ... no matter how bad it gets, that doesn’t change._

“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m just …” Tears stung his eyes, and his voice shook the tiniest bit. “Really looking forward to some pie.”

They never said things directly, him and Dean. Not the things that really mattered, anyway. It used to annoy Sam; when he went to Stanford he’d seen lots of his friends interact with their families, and they regularly expressed their affection. But over the years he realized that he and Dean didn’t need be so explicit. They didn’t even need a specific code. They knew each other well enough to understand from the context what the other meant, and to reply in kind.

So it didn’t surprise him when Dean’s face softened and he said, “You know, this lead’s gonna require a whole lotta research.”

Sam nodded, throat burning. “I’ll grab my laptop.”

“Good.” Dean nodded back. “Now hurry it up. I’m starving!” And he left.

Smiling a real, genuine smile for the first time in he didn’t know how long, Sam turned back to grab his laptop.

As he reached to close and lock the door behind him, he glanced around the empty room and whispered, “Thanks, Cas.”


End file.
